


honour among thieves

by copperiisulfate



Series: Mutants AU [2]
Category: Suits (TV), White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Crossover, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperiisulfate/pseuds/copperiisulfate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So I hear you got a new job," Neal says around a bagel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	honour among thieves

**Author's Note:**

> See [part one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/531983) for notes.

  

He blames it on being overworked and sleep-deprived, why he bothers to open the door without thinking at all at something like stupid o' clock.  
  
It is, as expected, not his best idea ever. Electric blue eyes stare back at him, bright and chirpy even at this godawful hour. "Nice tie."  
  
 _Of course_ , thinks Mike, but he's not really in a mood to entertain guests right now. "Did Trevor send you?" It wouldn't be unheard of. Maybe he told his sister, who told Neal, and--  
  
"Nope," and Neal Caffrey glides his way in, past the entrance, past Mike, and makes himself comfortable on Mike's couch. "Kate mentioned you weren't speaking though. How's it going, buddy? I've missed you."  
  
He's dressed in a faded band t-shirt and sweats. It's a funny look for a guy he'd never seen outside of a suit since the end of high school, the guy who had thought himself too good for college, too good for everything apparently. It hadn't just been the ego on Neal's part because if Mike had been smart, Neal had been that _and_ stupidly lucky to show for it.  
  
(The thing with Neal is that he's always been a good guy with a good heart and bad habits. He'd been bit of a klepto growing up which escalated and escalated and, well, it could've been _worse_ considering Neal's still here and alive but it could definitely have turned out better too.  
  
Twice, Mike had caught him pawning family heirlooms that belonged to Mike's grandma, and then there was that little sculpture his aunt bought from Istanbul and how it went missing and turned up elsewhere. With a memory like Mike's, these things are difficult to forget.  
  
This is, of course, the least of their history.)  
  
"It's going," says Mike. "What can I do for you?" What he means is, _can we hurry up so I can go to bed?_  
  
"Right, uh, Kate and I had a bit of a--"  
  
"Yep. Right. Couch. Yours." Mike yawns, adds, "Night." His brain is fried and he hopes the single syllables are enough to convey that.  
  
Logically, Mike knows that there is no way this is just about Neal needing a place to crash. Anyone who knows who and what Neal really is knows this. Time and time again, the guy has shown that he can reliably charm the pants off of anyone when he wants something. Mike's known him since fifth grade though, before the growth spurt and the high cheekbones and before all the girls and boys first started to take notice. What this generally amounts to is that Neal tends to refrain from playing his tricks on Mike.  
  
But they haven't seen each other in months, not since Neal had first come back from Vienna, and it was half-assed even then what with Trevor and Kate never letting anyone else get a word in edge-wise.  
  
Mike doesn't know what's changed since then, can't make himself care right now. He figures they'll talk in the morning; they always do.  


 

 

+

 

  
  
Most people are aware that Neal Caffrey has been all over the world. Most people, however, are not aware that he has also done some serious time. Mike doesn't envy that second one, not with a face like Neal's. Then again, Neal has this thing: he can talk people into (or out of) some really scary shit. This is probably why Neal usually gets his way. The only people whose heads he stays out of are the people he likes or the people he respects. There aren't many such people around but Mike has--by some wonder--managed to remain one of them.  
  
And then there are the people whose heads Neal can't work his way into but that's another thing entirely and Mike imagines it's not for lack of trying.  


 

 

+

 

  
  
The first time he'd gone to visit Neal in prison was also his last. This was right before Neal was being shipped off to supermax. Mike had been shaking in his skin because he hated the air, and this was taking a big, stupid risk if there ever was one but he had owed Neal at least this much.  
  
Mike had asked him how the hell they'd managed to catch him, not in so many words of course, not where they could have been heard, but the thought was there and clear.  
  
 _There's this agent,_ Neal had said, a wild look in his eye. _He's good, Mike. Really, really good._  
  
 _Yeah no kidding_ , Mike had thought. _Unbelievable_. He must have been a mutant. There was no way anyone could ever catch Neal Caffrey otherwise, not with that kind of mind or that kind of luck.  
  
Mike had told him, _write to me if you want, if you like_ and pulled up his hoodie over his head and gotten the hell out of that place. The selfish part of him wished that he could have had some normal friends for once in his life, but if you cut a little deeper, he just wished that everyone wouldn't always just _go_. He focussed on the selfish part because all the other parts of him felt like he'd failed. (In another world, he could have helped Neal out but in this one, Mike wasn't exactly a defence attorney. Mike wasn't exactly much of anything.)  
  
Years later, he'd gotten a postcard. Then another and another and another. Florence. Marrakesh. Salvador. Vienna. Then a phonecall.  
  
"Hey," Neal had said. "Guess who's back in town."  
  
The first thing Mike had asked him was how the hell he'd managed to _get out_.  
  
Turned out that the first time, he'd broken out. And then he'd got caught again. The second time? Well.  
  
"There's this agent," Neal had said, smile in his voice.  


 

 

+

 

  
  
"So I hear you got a new job," Neal says around a bagel in the morning.  
  
(They both know that _Got a job at all_ is what Neal's too polite to say.)  
  
"Yeah," Mike mumbles, rubbing his face. He needs to go get some coffee. He hasn't done groceries in days.  
  
"Do they know about you then?" And only because this is Neal, Mike knows that it's not meant to be malicious.  
  
He tries to figure out how exactly to phrase it. "The people who need to know, know."  
  
Neal looks interested. "Know who you are or what you did?"  
  
"I--" Mike exhales through his teeth. He digs up some orange juice from the back of his fridge. Here's hoping it's still in working order.  
  
Pouring himself a glass, he goes, "Here's where you're supposed to say, 'Thanks for letting me crash at your place last night', and then I say, 'You're welcome, Neal,' and kick you out to clean up your mess with Kate." They are _not_ talking about this. He'd kept promising so many people he was done with all of that. Being guilty was one thing but being mutant and caught was his grandmother biggest fear for him. Going by the way Harvey walked on eggshells whenever a government official came into the firm, she wasn't the only one.  
  
"Hey, relax," Neal says, a crooked smile on his face. "Honour among thieves, remember?" and maybe there's a flicker of something sharp in there. On someone else, it would look a lot like resentment but on Neal, it's hard to place. It's not entirely unwarranted considering Neal did the time and never told.  
  
 _I'm not a thief,_ and Mike falls for the bait before he can catch himself, before the voice inside his head tells him very plainly that intellectual property was still property. Forget college calc test plagiarism, this had always been bigger than that. Neal had been all about the art and Mike had only gone for easy money when it was safe. He had never been anything more than the careful kind of guy. He doesn't know how they had ended up crashing security systems with Mike memorizing a textbook's worth of code and Neal breaking into a federal facility only to find himself on the other side.  
  
 _It was for a good cause,_ Mike wants to snap, a little petulant maybe but he believes it to this day. _They had kids locked up in there._ Never mind that it got them nowhere because they fell flat on their faces and failed. Never mind that it got Neal locked up and effectively scared the shit of Mike enough to make an impression, to keep him away from that cause and those people.  
  
 _I know,_ thinks Neal, so that Mike can hear him. _We wouldn't have done it if it wasn't._  
  
"I need you to go," says Mike, more tired than he is upset. It's a weekend and he's got something like three rooms worth of proofs to get through back at the office because according to Harvey, associates don't need sleep _ever_. Mike pinches the bridge of his nose. He can't deal with this as well right now. _I'm sorry,_ he thinks, hopes that Neal will catch it.  
  
"Hey, " says Neal, "It's fine." There's a warmth in his voice that Mike hasn't found in a while. Mike's missed it too, if he's being honest with himself.  
  
Neal claps him on the shoulder and gets to his feet. "Just remember I'm on your side, 'kay?" He sounds like he means it but with him, it's hard to tell.  


 

 

+

 

  
  
When Mike's parents had died in a split-second car crash, it was, singlehandedly, the worst moment of his life.  
  
He'd pushed away everyone, even his grandmother, and drowned himself in books of every shape and size, inhaled everything from comic books to fucking Plato all night and day until his eyes burned.  
  
Neal had shown up to the funeral, had been the only kid he knew who had. And after, when all Mike wanted to do was jump into the Atlantic, Neal had heard him. He'd said, _Fine, let me help,_ and took him to Coney island. He'd stood facing the water, Mike shaking beside him.  
  
 _Make it go away,_ Mike had thought to him. _I know you can. I've seen you do all sorts of crazy shit to people's heads. You lie to them and make them believe you, so make me believe that this isn't hell._ He'd had such faith in Neal back then, had so much faith in so many things.  
  
"Not how it works," Neal had said to him, words spoken out loud like he'd been trying to make a point. He'd touched Mike's arm, curled his fingers around his wrist, apologetic, but also _there_ and _present_. "I wish so much right now that it was but I'm sorry. It isn't."  
  
They'd stood there knee-deep in the water for over an hour. Neal skipped stones while Mike could hardly breathe and Neal told Mike things he hadn't told anyone. Things like how he couldn't wait to get older and out of this place, how he'd imagined his dad to be, how he still liked to think he remembered what his mom sounded like even though he was sure he'd just made it up in his head. She had disappeared long before anyone could remember.  
  
He'd had a picture of her and Mike had seen it once, all dark hair and soft blue eyes. A beautiful ghost story. She'd been some kind of artist, or so they said. (A special kind of artist who made things come alive, straight out of the canvas. It surprised exactly no one that she had to disappear.)  
  
Other than that, no one knew anything about Neal's parents, least of all Neal.  


 

 

+

 

  
  
When Mike walks into the firm on Monday (after spending all Saturday and part of Sunday buried in paper here), Rachel is glaring at everyone and speaking to no one. Donna, looking pristine as always, smirks when Mike asks about it.  
  
"She just got hit on again. You, however, have bigger fish to fry." She gestures with an immaculately manicured fingernail towards Harvey's office where, through the windows, Mike can see his life come to a gruesome end.

 

 

+

 

  
  
Neal Caffrey is sitting in a room with Harvey Specter.  
  
This should be enough. If it isn't, the way the air crackles with the sense of stalemate once he walks into the room does wonders for the ambience. That, and the telepathy. _Good god,_ the telepathy. They're blocking each other out and they know this. They know what the other is. If Mike wasn't so preoccupied with how _this_ had become the state of his life, he would probably have found it hilarious.  
  
"Good Morning, Mike," Harvey says, very much not looking at Mike. "Mr. Caffrey from the FBI here says he has to sort through some files of ours."  
  
Harvey doesn't need to add, telepathically or otherwise, _Your ass is so fired._ Mike gets it loud and clear regardless. He tugs at his collar, thinks, _Well, fuck._  
  
Neal can read him though, whispers, _Relax_ , so that only Mike can hear.  
  
Mike thinks, _Screw you_ and, _thanks for telling me you were a fed._  
  
 _That's not exactly it,_ thinks Neal. _Let's do lunch. I'll tell you everything._  
  
"And it seems that you two know each other," Harvey adds, clearing his throat, as if he's very much aware that there's a conversation going on that he's not privy to. "Rachel will be helping him get settled for now but I expect we'll have cleared the air by this afternoon."  
  
Rachel, looking like she'd rather swallow live snakes, makes her way in with a sharp click of her heels. She escorts Neal out, and Mike still has that breath in his lungs that he's been holding.  
  
"We are going to have words, Ross." And Harvey looks at him now, _really_ looks at him. Mentally, he adds, _And if I find out you're sleeping with this one too, I_ will _have you fired. (Apparently, he's still not off the hook for the whole Tom Keller debacle.)_  
  
So his brain had decided it was going to be target practice for the telepaths today, a brilliant start to a doubtlessly brilliant week.  
  
Mike rolls his eyes, thinks, _I'm touched,_ and he hopes that Harvey hears it. He doesn't even know where to begin so he resorts to his default, the one that got him through before Harvey came along: he gets the hell out.


End file.
